


the wounds remain

by salazarastark



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarastark/pseuds/salazarastark
Summary: It's a mission to find Sinister, but instead they find an abused kid by the name of Scott Summers.





	the wounds remain

**Author's Note:**

> So here's my entry to the Marvel 2018 Big Bang! I had so much fun writing this fic, and I want to thank [anaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaer/pseuds/anaer) so much for helping this fic be as good as it. This fic will have sequels, and so if you have questions about them, the story itself, or anything else, leave a comment down below.
> 
> I did my best to be thorough in the tags, which are references to Scott's backstory. If you think there's one I neglected to add, please tell me and I'll add it promptly.

Scott comes out of his room with a pounding head, a tear-stained face, and a shuffling walk. It doesn’t get better because Jack takes one look at him, scoffs, and tells him to stop being such a pansy, to take it like a man. A small part of Scott rises up at that, wants to yell at him that he took it like a man, sure as hell took it a lot better than Jack ever could, but he doesn’t. Doing so would get a punch, a ringing in his ears, a worse headache than the one he has right now, and perhaps, if Jack was feeling up to it, a closer look at the kitchen counter than he wanted while Jack showed him how pathetic he was, how fucking  _ little _ he thought of Scott.

So Scott says nothing, stands here in the small frame between the kitchen and the living room, waiting to see what Jack wants him to do.

Sometimes he stands here for an hour, sometimes even longer, just waiting. Waiting is awful, but it’s much better than presuming. He learned that a long time ago. Luckily, Jack takes pity on him today, or at the very least forgets to torture him, and calls for him lazily as he leaves the kitchen, heading towards his chair in the living room. He always sits in that chair, and he’s the only one who can sit in that chair. Scott has seen him beat a man black and blue for sitting in there. He has never made that idiotic mistake, and after seeing that, he never ever will.

Jack settles into his chair. “Boy, do you know what I want you to do today?”

Scott shakes his head. “No, sir. What is it?”

Jack looks him up and down, and Scott suddenly fears that he’s going to have Scott walk the streets. He almost never makes Scott do that during the day - knows that Scott can get a lot more at night - but if he doesn’t have anything for Scott to do and feels that Scott isn’t doing enough to pay his way, he sends him out.

God spares a brief glance at Scott because Jack continues on with, “Need you to get some groceries today. We don’t have much money, so get what I like and don’t you dare spend a penny extra. You still got that ID on you?”

Scott nods, grateful that he won’t be forced to have sex right now and all Jack needs him to do is pick up some junk food and alcohol. Jack hands him a fifty, and Scott takes it, slides it into his pocket, and heads out of the apartment as fast as he can before Jack can change his mind and decides that he does want Scott to work his ass.

He stumbles on the sidewalk when he gets out of the building and clutches his head, wishing the pounding would just go away. It’s been there all day and most of last night. It’s been there since. . . It’s been there since Jack’s friend came up into his room yesterday evening to have some ‘fun.’ It’s not just his head that hurts, it’s his whole body, but it’s concentrated in his head. He does his best to focus on that pain because his other pain isn’t worth thinking about.

Scott leans against the building and takes a deep breath. The pain isn’t going away, and taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes isn’t helping. As always, the light is too bright, and he wants to cry. He can’t. Once he starts, he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop, and if he doesn’t do this, Jack will yell at him and throw empty liquor bottles at his head. Jack might even make him entertain some of his rougher friends, the men that make Scott cry, just for being late and not giving him what he wanted.

Scott steadies himself, physically and mentally, and then pushes away from the wall. He puts on his glasses and starts the walk towards the grocery store. He only makes it to the end of the block.

Scott sees  **_him_ ** .

His stomach drops, full of sick bile, to the center of the earth. His legs turn weak, and he stumbles backwards. His hand reaches out, skimming the edge of building, but it does nothing to help him. He falls, flat on his back, and finds himself paralysed. All he can do is stare, wide eyes locked on  **_him_ ** as he walks across the street, smile terrifying. Scott whimpers. The noises are torn from some dark, hidden place deep inside him, a place he thought he locked up forever.

No one notices. No one sees. Everybody moves on with their life, ignoring Scott and what’s about to happen.

**_He’s_ ** making them.

It couldn’t have even been a minute, but it feels like a lifetime before Scott finds himself dragged up from the cold, hard, comforting ground and forced to stare into those red, red, red eyes.

“Hello, Scott,” Sinister says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

*

Steve is sitting in what is perhaps the most uncomfortable chair in the world.. Next to him, Natasha sits elegantly, legs crossed, though Steve is positive that the chair she is sitting in is just as uncomfortable as his own. On his other side, Clint is about to fidget out of his seat, clearly as uncomfortable with the chair as Steve is, but hiding it much worse. Of course, the hard stare that Fury is giving the three of them from the other side of the desk might also be affecting how comfortable they are even more than the chairs.

Time stretches out for what seems like an hour but is merely a minute, maybe two, but well, that’s Fury’s superpower. Staring them all into submission. Clint breaks first.

“Sir, was there a reason we were called here?” 

Steve sees the ghost of a smile on Fury’s lips, almost as if he were waiting for it. He sees it on Natasha, too, and wonders not for the first time how much time the two of them spend together that makes them so much similar.

“Yes, there is,” Fury says, leaning forward. “What do you know about Mr. Sinister?”

Steve knows nothing about this man, but the way Clint and Natasha sharpen their focus tells him all he truly needs to know. Steve has a desperate need to know the details, though, so he leans forwards and tells Fury, “Never heard of him, but who names themselves Sinister?”

This time Fury doesn’t hide his smile. He clasps his hand together before he starts. “Mr. Sinister, as he likes to be called, is a God awful man who we know almost nothing about. All we know is that he is a scientist, a sick son of bitch who likes to torture and kill what we suspect to be mutants. We even have records that suggest he was active in World War II. And as I’m sure you can imagine, some people think he’s actually doing a service to this world. He always manages to slip through our grasp, and this is the first time in years that something new has come in, which is why we need to track him down ASAP.”

“Of course,” Nat says smoothly. “Where was he last seen?”

Fury rattles off the address. “We want this guy alive,” he adds. “Who knows the secrets he’s buried and the ones that could go with him if something goes wrong. That’s why I want you three. You bring the important ones in alive and talking.”

At that, Fury throws three identical folders to the desk. They each grab one, and within the first few pages, Steve can clearly see how important it is that they find and take this guy out. It doesn’t matter what the people he’s hurting can do, all that matters is stopping what he’s doing to them.

Mutants aren’t new to Steve. He knows that a lot of people expected them to be when he woke up from the ice. They were in a way, but it wasn’t that they existed. What surprised him - still surprises him - was how many there were and how visible they are now. Steve had only known one personally before he went under. Howlett. He’d been a good man, though gruff. Very gruff.

There’s not much in the folder besides some pictures of Sinister - all of them obscure - and pictures and information on his victims - his  _ lab rats _ . There is, horrifically, so much more of them. Steve has a strong stomach, he’s had to with everything he’s seen, but some of these are almost too much for him.

Steve knows Fury wants this man alive, and Steve’s not usually one to contemplate killing, but God, he wants to make him pay for everything he’s done.

Finally, he makes it through the folder and throws it down on the table. Next to him, Natasha is sitting still, too still to be natural. Her face is blank, but there is a fire flickering in her eyes and her mouth is a hard line. Clint is the exact opposite. He's visibly shaking, looking even paler than Steve. They finish their folders after Steve does, throwing theirs down next to his. Fury gives them a short nod, granting them the permission to leave.

“Okay,” Natasha says, rising in one fluid motion.Steve has gotten to know her well enough in these past few months to tell when she is suppressing the anger from her voice. “Let’s get this son of bitch.”

“Right behind you, Nat,” Clint says as he gets up.

The only thing Steve says is, “I’m driving.”

-

The last place Sinister was seen isn’t that far away from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Luckily, there isn’t much traffic. Within twenty minutes, they have arrived. The building is old and clearly abandoned, five stories high. Entering it, dust covers everything. There is nothing here to indicate that Sinister has ever been here, and Steve doesn’t know how Sinister could have been with the place looking so abandoned. He can see why someone would have been suspicious about seeing someone in here, though.

“Fury didn’t say who called this in, did he?” Steve asks.

Clint shakes his head, and Natasha frowns. “It was some old lady in the apartment across the street, according to Nick. She said that she saw lights on and at one point saw the face of a demon. Called 911, gave Sinister’s description, and contacts got it up to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Steve nods. “When was this?”

“Two days ago,” Natasha says, and she opens her mouth to say something else, but whatever it is Steve doesn’t find out because that’s when they hear the crash. It comes from upstairs, maybe the third or fourth floor. 

Steve turns to Clint and Natasha. “Clint, take this floor and the fourth. Natasha, second and fifth. I’m going to go to the third, and when you finish, meet me there.”

They nod, and Clint moves down the hallway, bow drawn. Steve and Natasha head up, splitting up when they get to the second story landing, and Steve heads to the third floor alone. 

The first few rooms are empty. He hears something then from the room at the end of the hall, the one on the left. It’s so soft that he isn’t sure he heard anything until it happens again. It sounds like a scrape. Quickly and silently, Steve heads to that room. The door is ajar, and Steve slowly pushes it wider to peer into the room.

In the corner, there is a boy. He is dirty and young, huddled over with fear. On his face, there is so much terror that Steve’s heart breaks. His brown hair is scraggly and unkempt, nearly touching his shoulders, eyes blue and wide, and he is far too skinny. His clothes are almost falling off of him, and Steve can see the outline of his bones. On the floor near him lie a pair of broken glasses. The red lenses are cracked, pieces of them are scattered over the floor. 

Steve lets the door fall open the rest of the way. He moves his hands slowly up in front of him, doing his best not to appear threatening or intimidating.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m Steve.”

The boy says nothing in response. Steve leaves the doorway and enters the room, and though he would have thought it impossible, the boy somehow manages to tuck himself even further into the corner.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks. Again, the boy says nothing. He just looks at Steve with that terrified, cornered expression. He can’t even begin to guess the boy’s age. He looks like he’s thirteen or fourteen, but he’s honestly so skinny and dirty and tired that he could easily be anywhere from twelve to eighteen.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve continues. No reaction, yet again. “Do you know a Mr. Sinister?”

That finally gets a reaction out of the boy, though one that causes Steve to regret the question immediately. All it serves to do is make the boy hyperventilate and curl in on himself, trembling from the fear that the one question had managed to put in him, and Steve rushes over to him. His hand almost grazes the boy’s shoulder, and Steve only just stops himself from touching him.

At least Steve got his answer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve attempts to soothe. “It’s okay. We’re looking for this guy to lock him up, to make sure he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

The boy shakes his head violently. He finally speaks, croaking out, “You can’t. He’s too powerful. He’ll just take you and hurt you and you’ll never be able to escape.”

Steve’s voice is soft and trembling when he asks, “And how long have you been trying to escape?”

The boy doesn’t say another word. Steve kneels down to get on his level and tries to meet the boy’s eyes. The boy avoids his. “How long?” Steve asks again. Again, there is no response. Steve sighs and goes for a different track. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

There is silence, and Steve thinks this will be another unanswered question until, quietly, he hears a mumbled, “Scott.”

“Scott. Okay,” Steve says, glad to get something out of him. “I’m Steve.”

“I know that,” Scott says, a little louder and a little more sure of himself this time. “You’re Captain America.”

“Yeah.” Steve is relieved that he is finally drawing the boy into conversation, glad that the boy recognizes him. Hopefully, he’ll want to trust Captain America.

He does. Scott’s body loosens, turns towards Steve, and there’s not as much fear in his eyes as he looks at Steve. He even comes out of his corner a little.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asks next, already knowing the answer. There is no way that Steve won’t be taking Scott to a doctor, not with how neglected and abused he looks, the bruises and scrapes that litter his body showing just how hurt this boy has been in his life, but if he’s willing to admit to anything, hopefully he won’t fight Steve about it.

Scott hesitates over the answer, but eventually he nods.

“Do you want to see a doctor?” Steve asks, hoping that Scott will answer this one with another “yes.” Unfortunately, that is not to be the case.

This time Scott doesn’t hesitate to respond. He flinches back and starts shaking his head, muttering, “No. No, please don’t make me. Please, I can’t.”

“Why not, Scott?”

“They’ll hurt me,” Scott says pitifully. “They always hurt me.”

“Doctors aren’t supposed to hurt,” Steve responds. “And the doctors who did hurt you need to be punished” (and Steve thinks about Sinister and what he’s done. That requires a certain medical knowledge that one might get from medical school.) “and we will find them later. But you’re hurt and that means that you need medical attention that only a doctor can give you.”

Scott doesn’t say anything to that. He’s looking over Steve’s shoulder, and when Steve turns around, he sees Natasha and Clint standing in the doorway, surprised to see Scott. Steve turns back to Scott, who at the arrival of new people retreated back into his corner. “These are my friends, Natasha and Clint. They’re here to track Sinister just like I am. They want to help you just like I do.”

Scott tears his eyes away from Natasha and Clint, and looks back at Steve. For a minute, he just stares at Steve. “You promise the doctors won’t hurt me?”

“I swear it. In fact, to make sure, I will be right next to you every step of the way.”

*

Captain America is supposed to be a trustworthy guy, and Scott does trust him but. . . . But he doesn’t. Scott finds it hard to trust anyone, everyone is always out to hurt him, like Sinister, like Jack, like the men on the street who like his lips and his ass and nothing else about him. Just because a man wears stars and talks about truth, justice, the American way doesn’t actually means that he’s a guy who can follow it (or maybe he can follow it a little too well). It’s a simple fact of life. Don’t believe that anyone believes what they’re saying and you won’t be hurt.

Scott’s an idiot though because as much as he  _ doesn’t _ trust Captain America, he wants to. He wants to so much that it beats like a rhythm right next to his heart. He wants to trust him so much that he’s practically tricking himself into trusting him.

Scott wants to trust him because being rescued by Captain America is something that seems ripped out of a comic book, and it can’t possibly be true, because nothing that good has ever happened to Scott. A hell of lot of bad has happened to him instead, so maybe - just maybe - the world is finally giving him a break. The thought makes Scott want to cry. He holds it in though. Once he starts, he won’t ever stop.

Captain America is sitting on the floor right in front of Scott, waiting for him to get up. He’s not forcing him. Well, maybe a little bit, pushing Scott to go to the doctor, but other than that, he’s not. And the two people behind him, Natasha and Clint, they’re not forcing him either.

And honestly, going to the doctor might be necessary. His headache is still there, his glasses are broken, he still hurts from last night, and Sinister injected him with something right before Captain America and his friends came in and Scott ran and Sinister disappeared. Scott doesn’t know what it was.

Based off how he’s feeling, he guesses it was a drug designed to lower his inhibitions. Scott’s been roofied enough times to gain a slight tolerance to them, but that explains his racing thoughts. Those are the one thing he can’t quite control when he’s on something.

So it’s not really forcing then. It’s more like pointing out a blunt truth, and that? That Scott can respect. And Captain America did promise him that the doctors weren’t going to hurt him, so with that, he holds out his hand. He doesn’t think he can get up on his own.

The look on Captain America’s face is great. It’s pure relief, and Scott feels a strange glimmer of pride that he was able to put that look on his face. Captain America stands and grabs Scott’s hand to pull him up, but it doesn’t quite work.

Scott can’t stand, and he stumbles into Captain America, crushing his face into his chest. The man smells nice, like clean soap and leather and patriotism, and Scott feels guilty all of sudden. He’s probably ruining Captain America, a fucking national treasure, with his filth. Scott tries to move away. He’s stopped by strong arms that lift him off the ground and begin to carry him like a child, cradled in his arms.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling the pull of the drug carry him into unconsciousness. He fights it long enough to apologize. “I’m sorry for this, Captain America.”

“It’s okay,” he hears back, distantly, “I’m going to take care of you.”

That’s a lie, but it’s one that Scott wants to hang onto for a little bit longer, so he doesn’t say anything as he fades into the nice, soothing black that never hurts him. He prefers it like this. It’s not really something worth experiencing, so it’s better to be out of it.

-

Scott wakes up slowly. His head is hurting even more, and he can't suppress the whimper that comes out his throat when he moves it. It's too much. He’s never hurt this much before in his life. He hears voices on the edge of consciousness, floating in and out. They’re low, and he can’t make them out, so he doesn’t bother trying. He’s aware of something warm on his back, and slowly, he realizes it’s a chest. An arm is slung around his waist, supporting him, and a hand is on his forehead. Scott doesn’t like to be touched, but he hasn’t been touched like this since . . . since his parents and Alex. It’s nice.

He starts to recognize the words that the voices are speaking. “Is he okay?” he hears a man say, with a response of a terse, “I don’t know.” It makes the chest that Scott’s laying on rumble.

That one’s Captain America, but why the hell is he here? Memories play in Scott’s mind.

“That whimper didn’t sound good,” the other voice says.

“I know, but at least it means he’s aware.” Scott’s memories finally trickle back into his mind, and despite his instincts, he opens his eyes.

The light is way too bright, amplifying the pounding in his head that hasn’t abated at all, but he glances around, squinting. He’s in a car. The redhead from the building is driving - fast - and the other man is sitting in the passenger seat, which means that he’s laying on Captain America’s chest.

“Wha-?” Scott mumbles, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

The car goes silent. The other man turns to look at him, and then up at Captain America. Scott feels himself shifted gently over. He was practically sitting in Captain America’s lap, but he’s in too much pain and too exhausted to process the embarrassment.

“Scott? How are you feeling?” he’s asked. The words take a moment to process. He manages to stumble out an answer of, “Like shit,” which earns him a slightly hysterical laugh, and he wonders if that’s a good thing.

“Okay,” he hears. “At least you can tell us that. We’re almost at the hospital, and once we’re there, a doctor can help you. But I need you to stay awake, okay? Can you please stay awake? For me? It’s important for your help.”

Scott really wants to close his eyes, but, well, it’s Captain America. He can do this for Captain America. An image of a backpack that Alex use to own flashes through his mind, one with Captain America from that old cartoon with all his Howling Commandos. He remembers holding onto his parents, one hand in his mother’s and the other in his father’s, as they walked home from school, Alex running ahead of them to get home just a little bit faster.

God, he misses them all so much. He wonders what they would think of him if they could see him now. He hopes they’d be proud, but Scott forces himself to be honest. They would be ashamed.

_ (If you start to cry, you’ll never stop.) _

He shifts himself, and he forces his eyes open just the tiniest bit more. He can do this.

“How lon’?” he slurs, hoping that Captain America understands what he’s trying to say.

He does. “Just a few minutes. You passed out on us in the hallway, so I had to carry you to the car. We aren’t that far from S.H.I.E.L.D. Just a few more minutes and then you’ll see the doctors and they’ll tell you when it’s safe for you to close your eyes again.”

“‘Kay.” Scott wants to say more, but he can’t form his tongues around the words. All his energy is spent on trying to keep his eyes open, and he has no idea why he needs to be awake other than  _ ‘Captain America wants me to be.’  _ Thinking makes his head hurt even more, though, so he stops and lets himself soak in Captain America’s warmth. He squints, doing his best to try and avoid looking at sunlight. He finally pins his eyes on the elbow of the guy in the passenger seat. Vaguely he wonders if he looks weird, just staring at an elbow, but it helps so he keeps on doing it.

It’s both forever and an instant when they arrive at the hospital. The lady pulls the car over and parks next to the curb. The other man opens his door and jumps out, heading around to where they sit, he and Captain America. Captain America moves away from it, moving Scott with him, and Scott can’t stop this whimper from tearing its way of his throat either.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he hears, Captain America misinterpreting the sound. “Clint’s just helping us. I’m going to pick you up now, okay? And I’ll carry you into the hospital, because I have a feeling that you can’t walk right now.”

That makes Scott want to laugh, but he’s too tired to manage even that right now. He settles for a small sound that he isn’t sure  _ has _ a name. Something between a laugh and a whimper.

Captain America gets out of the car in small increments, half-pulling, half-dragging Scott with him until they’re finally out. Scott finds himself swept up into strong arms again.The sudden change upends his insides and makes Scott’s head explode. He just barely manages to turn his head to the side to vomit. He hasn’t been allowed to eat anything for the last few days - has only managed a quick sneak of Jack’s junk food here and there - so it’s mostly just bile, but it still makes his face burn with humiliation.

“I-I’m sorry,” he croaks, his eyes getting wet again with tears he refuses to let fall.

“It’s okay,” Captain America says, and his voice is still gentle. “I can get new shoes. We need you to get you into the doctor right now.”

“I’m tired,” Scott says next. He hates himself for saying it, but he can’t stop it. “I wanna go to sleep,” he slurs.

“I know that, Scott, but please, please,  _ please _ stay awake for me. Just for a little bit longer.”

Scott tries, he really does, but he’s just so damn tired. He can feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness, and he can’t bring himself back up, no matter how many times Captain America yells at him to stay awake.

*

Steve rushes into the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility clutching Scott to his chest. The kid had fought to stay awake, but he couldn’t stay up any longer. He had finally passed out and now lay limp in Steve’s arms. His breath is steady, thankfully, and in the car his pulse had been fine.

As soon as he steps through the door, one of the nurses at the desk comes rushing over to Steve. “What happened?” she asks briskly, one hand reaching to take Scott’s pulse. Whatever it is now relieves her a little bit, because she let’s go of the breath she was holding and relaxes just a fraction.

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “He was drugged with something;I’m not sure what. He seemed injured, too, but I don’t know where or what or even when he was hurt.”

“We’ll do a complete work-up,” she says, “and we’ll find out what the problem is.”

Another nurse comes over with a gurney. The nurse -  _ ‘Lily,’ _ Steve reads from her name tag - tells him to put Scott on it. He complies, resting the boy’s too-thin, limp body onto the bed. The nurses whisk Scott away, moving fast to pull him behind the doors of the ER. Steve watches him go and doesn’t manage to drag his eyes away until Lily’s voice registers next to him.

“Who is he?” she asks. “Where are his parents? Does he have anyone that you know of for us to contact?” 

Steve shakes his head. “No; we found him on a mission. A scientist by the name of Sinister, he’s known for experimentation on people, especially mutants.”

“He’s a mutant?” Lily asks, and Steve’s mind stops.

He doesn’t know. Scott could be a mutant, but Steve has no idea. He forgot to ask.

“I don’t know,” Steve tells her, “but it would make sense.”

“I agree,” she says, keeping her voice steady and firm. “In the meantime, we can keep you updated as much as we can, and until we find a guardian, someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. will be appointed in a provisional way.”

“Me,” he says immediately. She nods. 

“Very well then. We can get that paperwork sent up here right away. And now Captain Rogers,” she directs him over to the waiting room, “You can wait over there. We’ll come get you if we need anything else.”

“Are-are you sure?” he asks. “There’s nothing I can do to help?”

Lily looks at him, her brown eyes sympathetic yet adamant. “There’s nothing, Captain. You did your job, let us do ours. We’ll let you know how he’s faring as soon as we can, but right now you would just be in the way.” She glances down, catches sight of Steve’s shoes, and wrinkles her nose. “And ask an orderly about some new shoes.”

Steve turns to see Clint staring at him sympathetically. “Come on, Cap. Let’s get you taken care of. Lily, can you send the paperwork to the cafeteria once you’ve gotten ahold of it? I’m gonna get some food in him. And, yeah, definitely some new shoes.” Clint grabs Steve’s arm and moves him away from the doors.Steve looks back at the doors they’d pulled Scott through, and wishes there was more he could do to help.

-

Clint leads Steve to the hospital cafeteria and sits him down at a table. “Just take a deep breath, buddy,” he says. He takes the seat next to him and whips out his phone, fingers clicking away at a text. Probably Natasha. He knows Clint’s talking to Natasha when he continues with, “So Nat is going to bring us up some street clothes after she gives Fury an update. Meanwhile, we’re under strict orders to stay here until she gets here. We’ll take care of the paperwork here and make sure that Scott is safely under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s care ”

He grins at that, but Steve can’t return it. It was a weak attempt at a grin anyway. Clint rests his phone on the table then clasps his hands together and sighs.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. Steve blinks at that. “Talk about what?”

Clint scoffs, and gestures to the entire cafeteria, but Steve knows the caf isn’t really what he’s talking about. “What just happened? About how we go to apprehend a dangerous fugitive, and instead we find an abused kid who collapses on us as soon as we get him, maybe? About how you’re strangely quiet about all of it? Any of that ring a bell or two?”

Steve sighs. “No. Yes. I don’t know. In the building, he was fine, but then. . . . Then he wasn’t. He seemed better in the car again but now he’s here, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

Clint looks down at the table. “I know. It sucks. And it’s just a hunch, but I think that kid’s been abused by someone other than Sinister, too. His science experiments didn’t look like  _ that _ ..”

“Like what?” Steve asks, his mind not moving nearly as fast as normal. He can’t piece together whatever it is Clint is trying to tell him, and Clint’s compassionate gaze tells him that he understands, but the way he spoke made it seem like whatever he noted was obvious. Steve hates it when his mind gets like this.

“Steve, that kid is way too skinny and way too nervous. He has bruises, old ones, on his wrists and arms that seem to have come from a hand. And,” here Clint hesitates, “I noticed some other things that indicate abuse that don’t jive with what we know about Sinister. Things that look more like abuse than experimentation. And if Sinister didn’t do that to Scott, someone else had to, which means it’s not just one person we have to worry about, it’s at least two.”

Steve looks at Clint, stunned for a moment, and then groans and drops his head into his hands. “God, no. This poor kid. Fuck. What do you think this guy was doing to him? You think we should tell the nurses?”

Clint shrugs. “Maybe, but if they’re any good at their job, they’ll figure it out. And, trust me, you do not want to get in a S.H.I.E.L.D. nurse’s way.”

“You’ve done this before,” Steve says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Clint says without a moment’s hesitation. “For me. I mean . . . not like  _ that _ , and I’ve never collapsed from a drug. It was really never anything worse than a few broken bones, but it happened. I got out. We need to make sure Scott does, too.”

Steve nods at that. He’s not going to let anyone be abused, especially not a kid as young and as scared as Scott is.

“He trusts you,” Clint says next. “I can tell. He’s loose around you, and I don’t think that’s something that comes easy to him. If he can feel safe around you, that’s good. He needs someone like that.”

“Are you sure I can do that?” Steve almost asks. He wants to, he really does, but he feels so tired in this moment that he’s not sure how he can be anywhere for himself let alone another person. Let alone a child.He’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

Clint answers the question before Steve has the chance to voice it, his words brutally honest. “It’ll be hard as shit, and you won’t have a clue what you’re doing half the time, but you’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. He means it though he knows it probably doesn’t sound like it. Clint nods in response.

Steve lays his head on the table and closes his eyes. He is vaguely aware of Clint grabbing coffee for the both of them, but when the cup is placed near his head he doesn’t bother to drink his. The paperwork comes a short while later, and Clint fills it out quietly, only making brief comments here and there to tell Steve what he’s decided to fill in. Steve falls into something that isn’t quite sleep, but isn’t quite awake either. Time moves without him paying attention to it, until eventually they are interrupted by Natasha.

“Hey,” she says as she walks up to the table. “I got your clothes, if you guys want to get changed.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He sits up. “Thanks for this.” He feels better after that semi-nap.

“Fury good?” Clint asks her.

“He’s not happy that he didn’t get Sinister, but he’s glad that we saved a witness,” Natasha replies and hands them each a bag of clothes. “He wants to speak to you guys as soon as we know Scott is okay, and speak to Scott as soon as a doctor gives clears it. Have you heard anything?”

They both shake their heads. Natasha huffs. “Great. I’ll go ask while you guys change. Meet me back at the desk when you’re done.”

Steve changes quickly, glad to get out of his uniform and the shoes which are really starting to smell up the place. Clint finishes at the same time he does, and they walk to the desk in silence. Natasha is talking to a nurse, looking severe.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks.

“Scott’s awake,” Natasha replies.

Clint’s grin splits his face. “That’s great!”. Then he notices the looks on their faces. “Except . . . it isn’t?”

“He’s fine right now,” the nurse says. Her name badge reads Daphne. “But the doctor noticed something when we examined him, and he’s refusing to let us examine any further.”

“Why?” Steve asks. He understands why Scott might not let them do something that needs to be done given how terrified he was of the doctors. Still, he’s compiled so far.

Natasha is quiet for too long. She looks at the nurse, then back to Steve and pulls them to the side.

"What?" Steve asks again.

"They want to run a rape kit, Steve."

Steve’s stomach drops. Clint sighs heavily like he expected it.

“What?” Steve asks. His voice falters. “No. How? This doesn’t match Sinister’s profile, he’s never-”

He can’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t think it was Sinister,” Clint says His voice is flat. “It was probably the person who had him before.”

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is what Clint had been alluding to. He exhales and opens his eyes, his mind already settling into its old habit of analyzing and preparing for the future. 

“So we need to convince him to do this exam,” Steve states. 

Natasha nods. “If he wants to prosecute, then yes.”

“Okay. Let me talk to him.”

“Steve, are you sure?” Clint asks as Natasha says, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“What do we have to lose?” Steve hits back. “Let me try.”

They walk back over to the nurse. “I’d like to speak with Scott,” he says.

Daphne nods. “Okay, Captain Rogers. I’ll take you right to him.”

*

Scott stares at the ceiling. He’s never gotten why people call white a pure color. It’s never seemed pure to him. It’s always been a harsh color. He would stare at the white ceilings of the orphanage or Jack’s apartment and wonder what it would be like to stop feeling this pain. His headache is starting to abate, but that’s because of the drugs they gave him. He’s not sure what it is, but it’s helping the pain and flushing the drugs that Sinister gave him out of his system, so it’s all good.

Scott is also starting to get very sleepy. It’s a peaceful tired, the kind where you don’t want to go to sleep, you just want to keep feeling it for awhile. He’s riding that wave, staring out the window admiring how nice the stars are tonight, when Captain America comes in.

Captain America is dressed differently now. He’s in normal clothes, not the flag uniform he was wearing.Scott almost doesn’t recognise him. Scott’s mouth drops open when he does. He gives Scott a bashful grin when he enters, kindly not commenting on Scott’s open-mouthed gaze.

Scott knew that today hadn’t been a dream, but he still can’t believe that it actually happened. Captain America really did save him. Holy shit.

Scott can’t do much other than stare when Captain America walks into the room and gives him a smile.

“Hey,” he says.

A beat of silence passes and then Scott says back, “Hey.”

Captain America looks down at the ground, and then back up. He crosses the room and pulls up a chair and sits down right next to Scott. “Do you remember meeting me?”

Scott starts to nod then stops and shakes his head instead. “No, not really. Kind of. The memories are really . . . are really weird.”

Captain America gives a small laugh at that. “Yeah, that makes sense. You were pretty out of it. Impressive how long who were able to hold on though.”

“Thanks.” Scott scowls and mutters, “It’s not the first time I’ve been drugged.”

The smile falls off Captain America’s face. Scott looks away from him, suddenly feeling guilty. He shouldn’t have said that. Captain America doesn’t want to know that.

“Yeah. I had a feeling.” Captain America takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m . . . I’m not going to beat around the bush. A nurse told me what exam you’re refusing to do, and I need to talk to you about that.”

“Oh, God,” Scott whimpers, leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes. A wave of humiliation sweeps him, and he fights back the tears that come crawling up. A fucking national hero knows about what a dirty, used whore he is. “No. No! Why’d you have to know that?”

“Scott, I’m not judging you. Not at all,” Captain America says evenly. “You have a right to say no to this exam, but I have to tell you that I think you should do it. At the very least you need to make sure you aren’t injured and that you don’t have a disease. And in the future, this will be good if you decide you want to come after the bastards who hurt you-”

“They do that anyway . . . the testing . . . without the . . . Besides, there isn’t enough evidence to go after all of them,” Scott says. His voice is dead. “Why are you so eager for me to do this? I didn’t think they had rape kits in the forties.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Captain America asks.

Scott shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Captain America is silent for a moment and then, “They didn’t. I learned about them as part of my introduction to the modern world, and I got a little more detail before I entered this room. I’m no expert. I do think they’re one good thing this world has done in the past seventy years, and you should get one. Maybe we can’t go after everyone who’s hurt you, but we can go after some of them. We can find you a new home. That’s what’s important.”

Scott opens his eyes and turns to face stupid Captain America with his stupid open and honest face. “And why do you care?” he snaps.

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

Scott laughs bitterly. “Why do you care about some stupid whore?”

Captain America’s eyes open up wide with shock at Scott’s words, but he regroups quickly, Scott gives him that. “You’re a person who’s hurting and in pain and has been abused. The people who did this to you should be punished. Does there need to be another reason?”

“I’m a living witness to Sinister?” Scott says, throwing the gauntlet of truth into the middle of this conversation. “S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t stupid, but neither am I. You want the information I have to be safe, not me.”

Silence permeates the room, and Scott huffs at what he takes to be confirmation. Finally, Captain America speaks again. “You’re not stupid, and that’s why we need to protect you. But what does a rape exam do for us? We want your information, we can get it. We want you to be safe until we have Sinister, we can do that. We can do all that anyway. We will. But Scott, I can’t ignore this. I’m not going to force this exam on you, but I want to ask you why you don’t want to do this.”

Scott sigh, and bites his lip as he tries to think of the best way to say words that he doesn’t even know how to think. “I just. . . . I just don’t want people . . . knowing.”

“But who’s going to know Scott? Me, the nurses, a couple members of S.H.I.E.L.D.? We can bury this so deeply in paperwork that no one can find it if they aren’t looking. And then one day when you do want us to do something about it, we can bring it back up, but only if you want to. That’s what’s important here. You and your wants and your needs. The only reason I’m sitting here and begging you to do this is because in this case, they conflict. But that’s it.”

Scott absorbs the words. He’s right, though Scott hates it. He can’t bring himself to trust S.H.I.E.L.D. fully, but Scott has no other options. He gives a jerky nod, hating the thought of his shame being written down and filed as paperwork and the thought of being touched, but there’s the fact that maybe this could stop Jack and his friends from hurting anyone else, so it might just be worth it.

“On one condition,” Scott says with a shaky voice.

“What is it?” he’s asked, confusion in Captain America’s voice.

“Please stay with me.” God, Scott hates how pathetic his voice sounds, but he can’t do anything to stop it.

“Of course, I will.” Captain America moves a hand next to Scott’s, almost but not quite touching his. It’s strangely nice.

-

Scott tries his best to ignore the nurse. His heart is rattling around his chest, refusing to quiet, and a wave of emotion presses down on him. He wants to cry, he wants to yell, he wants to disappear. He wants to do all these things at once, and the only thing that’s stopping him from getting off of the examination table and bolting through the door is Captain America by his side, a strong and steady presence.

A part of Scott wants to resent him for making him do this, but he can’t find it in himself. Captain America had made a strong, clear, rational, and logical argument about Scott getting this for his himself, though Scott doesn’t know how to tell him that this would be useless once Jack got his hands on him again. He couldn’t tell him because. . . because a part of him found himself hoping that Jack wouldn’t get ahold of him again. Jack was powerful, scarily so, but Scott didn’t think Jack could stand up to Captain America, especially with the forces of S.H.I.E.LD. behind him. The fact that maybe, just maybe, Jack would be a distant nightmare filled Scott with so much joy it was hard to contain.

Finally the nurse finishes her preparation. Lily gives Scott a soft smile. He likes her, he decides. Her smile is nice. It’s not fake and she doesn’t look like she’s going to pretend like this is anything other than what it is. A humiliating moment that Scott wants to be over as soon as possible.

“This is how this is going to go,” she begins. “As your provisional guardian, Captain Rogers has signed off on the paperwork authorizing this exam. I’m going to examine your upper body first. I’m going to take pictures of you, for you to have later as possible evidence. I’m going to do that with your whole body. When we finish with that, I’m going to swab your mouth, then I’ll swab and exam your private areas. I’ll take a blood sample last. I know this is going to feel intrusive and humiliating, but I’m here and so is Captain Rogers. If you need to stop, let me know and we can wait as long as you need to. If you have any questions about something that I am doing, stop and ask me no matter what. Understand?”

Scott nods, glad that she’s not beating around the bush.

“Steve,” Captain America says to them. “Please. Call me Steve.”

It feels weird, but Scott can try. He moves his hand a little closer to Cap - to  _ Steve’s _ hand.

Scott doesn’t pay attention to the exam. He goes along with Lily because he has to, tuning out the world and letting her move him as she wants. He keeps his hand close to Steve’s though.

Then suddenly it’s time for the worst thing of all.

“Okay, Scott,” he hears, muffled as if from a distance, as if he’s underwater and drowning. “I need you to spread your legs and take a deep breath. . . .” Scott can’t help himself. He reaches over and grabs Steve’s hand, clasping it tightly. Steve squeezes back. 

He chooses not to remember it,  _ forces  _ himself not to. He’s forgotten many nights, many men, so he knows he can forget this, too. He’s staring at the ceiling, forcing himself not to cry, as he holds on to Steve for all he’s worth, which isn’t much. He thinks back to Alex snoring on long car rides and his mother’s singing and his father’s voice. He forces himself to go back to those happy days, when Scott never could have imagined that this would be his life, that of a dirty and useless and unwanted whore.

Scott only lets himself be dragged back to the present when he hears his name called over his head. He doesn’t want to, but he’s suddenly aware of the fact that no one is touching him anywhere except his hand. It feels nice in a way that touch hasn’t felt in a long time.

He glances around blearily, finding himself back in the real world and looking into the eyes of Captain America. Everything rushes back. Every unfortunate thing.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks him, and all Scott can do is nod. There’s a knot in his throat, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak without crying. Steve’s gaze flicks to his face, and Scott rubs his arm across it.

He’s crying, Goddammit. He’s making a fool of himself in front of Captain America, and Scott has enough pride left that he didn’t want to do that.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Steve tells him. “It’s okay. It’s been an emotional day, and I’m sure you want to sleep.”

Scott nods at that. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice. But, um,” he takes a deep breath, “can you stay?”

For a moment, there is silence, and then after what seems like an eternity, Steve answers. “Of course, Scott. I won’t leave you.”

*

Scott is sound asleep, looking so damn young and innocent that it makes Steve’s heart break. He’s too young to have gone through any of this.

Steve doesn’t know how long he sits in that uncomfortable hospital chair watching Scott. Probably longer than he should. He almost doesn’t hear it when someone comes in, but the door scraping open is just loud enough to catch his attention. He turns around and smiles when he sees Clint.

“Hey,” Clint says. Nodding toward Scott, he asks, “How is he?”

“Tired. Exhausted. He’s had a hell of life.”

“You’re telling me.” Clint waves a folder that Steve only just now notices in his hand. “We ran the kid’s DNA and fingerprints. We’re doing that with the DNA that came from the rape kit, too, because even if Scott doesn’t want to prosecute, like hell we’re going to let any of the men walk free. We’ll find something on them.”

“Good,” Steve says. His stomach still knots at the thought of all that Scott has been through, and he knows that there’s nothing he could do to make it right. But if he can destroy the lives of the men who helped destroy Scott, that might just have to be enough.

“But, yeah, I found Scott, which is actually his name. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting that. You’d be surprised how many kids like him use fake names. Scott Christopher Summers, born in Anchorage on September 10th, 1996. Parents were Christopher and Katherine, dad in the Air Force. Older brother named Alex.

“Mom and dad died in a plane crash when he was six. Scott and his brother survived, but Scott went into a coma and from all accounts Alex seems to have just disappeared. Not for long, we’ll find him, but based on public record there doesn’t seem to be much more for Alex Summers. But anyway, Scott eventually woke up and because they landed in Nebraska and didn’t have any living family members, he was sent to a Nebraska orphanage where he lived for about six years until he disappeared. Reports seem to suggest he was a runaway. Orphanage wasn’t taken care of well and it closed down soon after Scott run away because the attention that garnered. It was called the Essex Group Home. Here’s all the info, Cap. I’ll let you know as soon as we know about the brother and the men.”

Steve blinks but gladly accepts the folder that Clint hands him. He skims it quickly, but Clint has already laid out the most important information.

“Okay. And there’s no record of Scott from between when he ran away from this place four years ago and when we found him today?”

Clint sighs. He pulls another chair into the room and sits next to Steve, staring at Scott on the bed.

“The kid’s so young,” he finally says. “He doesn’t deserve his life.”

“What did you find?” Steve already knows that Clint must have found something horrible.

“It isn’t under Summers.” Clint stops, hesitant to continue. . .

“Clint, can you just tell me, damn it?” Steve snaps, nearly shouting as the frustration from the day finally explodes. He just wants to know what the problem is, what other forms of hell Scott has gone through. He feels guilty when he sees the shocked look on Clint’s face, but the man quickly rallies and nods.

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just hard to talk about, man. Scott came up for a couple solicitation charges.”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes.

“I know,” Clint says sympathetically. “He gave a name of Scott Alexander when he was arrested, but I really want to have a chat with these officers who think it’s okay to arrest a fourteen and fifteen year for something that they’re obviously being forced to participate in.”

“No one tried to help him?” Red starts to tinge his vision.

“He was bailed out by an apparent foster father - a Jake Diamond? - and disappeared both times. I don’t think I have to tell you that Jake Diamond is also an alias.”

“This man. . . .”

“Oh believe me, we’re working on that.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Let me know as soon as you find him.”

“We will, Cap. But right now, you need to go.”

“What?” Steve asks sharply. “Why?” He’s not prepared to leave Scott at all.

“Fury wants to talk to you.” Clint shrugs apologetically. “Told me to tell you as soon as I gave you all the info on Scott. He’s so exhausted and drugged up that you’ll be back before he wakes up, and I’ll stay with him the entire time you’re gone, watch everyone around him like a hawk. I swear it.”

Steve absolutely does not want to leave, but if he can’t trust Clint, he can’t really trust anyone. Besides, Fury does need to hear what happened from all three of them as much as Steve hates it, and he knows that Clint and Natasha already spoke to him.

“Fine,” Steve huffs. “If he wakes up before I get back. . . just tell him I’ll be right back.”

Clint nods, and with great trepidation, Steve walks out of the room, out of the medical center, and towards Fury’s office.

-

Steve isback in one of those God awful chairs, waiting for Fury to finish writing his notes on everything he just said. Has the man always been such a slow writer?

It feels like forever before Fury finally puts the pen down and looks at Steve. “So I send you to catch a wolf and you bring back a stray?”

Steve bristles. “I brought you back an abused kid that needs help, and one who can help us find Sinister.”

Fury holds up a hand to placate Steve. “I’m aware of the benefits that Scott Summers brings us, and there’s no denying that this kid needs help. But he also brings a whole hell of lot complications that I wasn’t expecting.”

Steve leans back in his chair and crosses his chest. “And what are those?”

“Well, the main one is where exactly this kid is going to live once the hospital gives the all clear? What does S.H.I.E.L.D. need to do in terms of his living situation, his food, his medical care, his therapy, his education, and a fuckton of other things? What does New York State require? Is there anything that needs to be taken care of with Nebraska and Alaska and an orphanage that’s closed? Why did he run away from the orphanage four years ago? Where has he been in the meantime? How connected are those two? And what about the men whose DNA was collected in the rape kit? And the men that were arrested with him on his solitacation charges? And why the hell are we the first people to put this all together? And his brother, where the hell is he? He would be about eighteen. Does he want a baby brother? Don’t mistake me, Rogers. I’m just as pissed for this kid as you are, but there are a lot of questions here that I have to answer.”

Steve looks down, and breathes. Fury’s right. “Sorry,” he says. “I just . . . I just want Scott to be okay. God, Nick, he’s been hurt so badly and he’s so damn young.”

“They usually are,” Nick replies somberly. “And things are going to get worse before they get better. We just have to continue on.”

“What can I do?” Steve asks. “I don’t know what I can do.”

Nick is silent for a moment, and then he starts to speak, more hesitant than Steve has ever heard before. “There’s one thing that you can do, but it’s asking a hell of a lot. But if you did this, it could make everything else easier.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” Steve says determined.

“Take him in,” Fury says, the hesitation no more. “Become his guardian, damn near adopt the kid. No one’s going to say anything about Captain America taking in a homeless orphan which will stop any one that wants to try to take Scott away, especially Sinister. You care about the kid which is probably a hell of a lot more than anyone else who’s been in his life before today. You can probably convince the kid to do it, and S.H.I.E.L.D. will pick up the expenses on everything else.”

The thought of that terrifies Steve to his very core. Fury makes some really good points, but the idea of someone depending on Steve when Steve feels like he can barely take care of himself is gut wrenching. Yet Scott needs someone, and Steve can’t think of a better idea which means that he has to do this. There’s no other option. Natasha isn’t the greatest person with kids, and the amount of secrets both she and Scott have would ensure he would never fully open up to her. Steve has no idea about Clint’s situation, but he’s been to his apartment and  _ horrific  _ is the polite word to use.

It’s all down to Steve. He nods says, “Okay.”

“Okay. Go tell Scott the good news.”

Right. Yeah, Steve should probably tell Scott about this. Make sure that he’s okay with doing it, that even wants to do this. And Steve will tell Scott right after he calms his shaky breath and shaking hands in the bathroom.

*

Scott wakes up feeling better than he has in a long time. He looks around the room to find Steve sitting in the chair next to his bed, reading through a folder. Steve is still here. The fact that someone is waiting for Scott. . . .

“Hey,” he croaks His throat is dry. He frowns at that. “Can I have some water?”

Steve looks up with a start. “You’re awake,” he mutters, and then looks around. “Water? Yeah, I can get that for you.”

Soon a cup is thrust in Scott’s hands and he downs it. “Thanks,” he says when he’s done.

“Welcome,” Steve replies, watching Scott now that he knows he’s awake.

“Whatcha readin’?” Scott asks, nodding to the folder that Steve’s still holding in his hands.

Steve looks at it, almost like he’s forgotten that it’s there. “Oh, this. Um. . . . I don’t know how to say this. It’s . . . it’s about you.”

“About me?” Scott asks, confused even as a pit grows in his stomach.

“Yeah. It’s . . . it’s everything we could find on you.”

“Which is?” Scott asks past the lump in the throat, knowing what the answer will be.

“Your full name, your family, the orphanage,” Steve says simply, which Scott is grateful for. He stops for a moment before he continues. “Your arrests.”

Scott closes his eyes, and waits for the world to fall down around him. Waits for Steve to talk about how disgusting and pathetic he is. How it’s one thing to be fucked, but it’s another to get paid for it.

It never comes. Scott opens his eyes in disbelief at what Steve starts to say.

“So obviously we’re looking into everything, and an agent will want to talk to you about it once you feel better, because these men need to be charged with statutory rape and these police officers were incompetent for not realizing that you are a child. Right now, that isn’t what I want to talk to you about though.” There is something strange in Steve’s eyes. It almost looks like desperation, but Scott isn’t use to seeing that anywhere other than the mirror.

“Wha- what is it?”

Steve takes a deep breath and charges on.  "It's a couple things. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been hunting Sinister for a while, and you're the first real lead we've gotten. We don't know what he wants with you, but if he wants you, he's likely to come back for you. His reach is far, but we can protect you . . . and we can protect you from whoever has been hurting you. Even if Sinister weren't an issue, we would not send you back to whoever has been abusing you, Scott. As it stands, someone has to be responsible for you. S.H.I.E.L.D. can assign someone else, but I was wondering . . . would you be willing to stay with me?"

“What?” Scott asks, unable to comprehend.

“Do you want to live with me?” Steve repeats. “ I’ll be your official guardian. We’ll get you therapy and an education; anything else you want and need. But only if you want to Scott, that’s what’s important. Only if you want to.”

It sounds too good to be true. It probably is too good to be true. But goddammit, Scott wants to hope, so he can’t stop himself from saying - doesn’t want to stop himself from saying - “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](https://salazarastark.tumblr.com/)!


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